


If You Should Fall Into My Arms

by Eastmava



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Happy Ending, Kylo has his scars, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9616364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastmava/pseuds/Eastmava
Summary: "Hux is so close, pressed chest to chest, and he again catches a whiff of the spicy-sharp scent of Hux’s cologne, but underlaid with the scent of warm skin. Delirious, overcome, he starts to lean forward to kiss Hux, his hands aching with the urge to slide down and cup the slight swell of hips, but he stops himself, forces himself to remember that Hux is not wrapped in his arms like a lover because he wants to be, no matter how cruelly close this is to what Kylo yearns for."Kylo wants what he can't have. (Or does he?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story absolutely wouldn't exist without the wonderful obsessions-and-dreams, who held my hand and encouraged me to continue and let me send her messages on Tumblr at times when we both really should have been in bed. 
> 
> Thank you darling, you're a way better friend than I deserve.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd, so please point out any mistakes you see!

“C’mon, Hux? Please?”   
  


It’s Rey’s voice. She apparently still hasn’t figured out, despite being here for over three months, that the walls are thin and noise carries. He debates calling out to her, reminding her that if she’s going to be crashing at his place the least she can do is help him juggle the door and this week’s groceries, but he closes his mouth at the mention of Hux’s name, tilts his ear closer to the door.

 

“Absolutely not,” a short, clipped accent responds. 

 

“What would it hurt?” That’d be Phasma, Rey’s girlfriend, and the reason Hux, an attractive redhead with a slight Irish brogue, has been hanging around Kylo’s ratty apartment, nearly driving Kylo mad with want whenever the collar of his crisp, Oxford shirts peek open and reveal the tempting line of his collarbone. 

 

“Rey,” Hux begins, and there’s a clink which can only be Hux sitting his mug of tea (Lipton, bagged, and he can picture the way Hux’s nose would’ve crinkled, the way it does every time, at being forced to drink such an inferior beverage, but he still has a cup whenever Phasma drags him around) down on the scratched coffee table. “I will not be asking your cousin out.”

 

“But why-” 

 

He doesn’t hear Rey’s response, quietly walking back down the hallway to the stairwell. He opens the door to the stairs and lets it slam closed, clomps his heavy boots down the worn carpet. “Rey,” he calls out halfway down, not caring if it disturbs the neighbors. “Get the door. My hands are full.”

 

If his voice quavers a bit, shakes just a little, well, it sells the idea that he’s worn from lugging home groceries. 

 

~

 

Rey and Phasma are making out of the couch when he gets home.

 

To be more accurate, they have very clearly just  _ stopped _ making out on the couch when he walks in the door. The always knife-sharp line of Phasma’s lipstick is smeared, a good portion of it transferred to Rey’s bruised mouth.

 

“Kylo,” she says, a little too loudly as though it will distract him from what he’s obviously walked in on. “I wasn’t expecting you home so soon.” He glances at his watch and sees that it’s the same time he gets home from work everyday, which means they just lost track of the time.

 

He doesn’t say anything, because if he had someone to lose track of time kissing he’d certainly be doing it instead of trying to fight down jealousy that his younger cousin does.

 

“Right. Well, I’ll leave you too it.” He drops his bag and is toeing off his shoes when Phasma looks up from the compact she’s fixing her make up in to speak.

 

“We’re going out to dinner. You should come.” She snaps the mirror with a staccato  _ click. _ “Hux is meeting us.”

 

“Pass.” He’s grateful his ears are covered by his hair, because he can feel the blush tinting them red. They still don’t know he overheard their conversation last week, isn’t sure how to bring up that while he may be pathetically lonely he’s not so pathetic he’s going to accept being set up with someone who isn’t interested in him. 

 

“Please Kylo,” Rey begs. “It’ll be good for you to get out.” He sighs at he looks at her, with wide eyes and kiss smeared lips and still so eager for her big cousin to acknowledge her; probably the best thing in his life, despite all the chaos she brings.

 

“Fine,” he concedes. “Let me go change and wash up.” She jumps off the couch to hug him and suddenly he feels fourteen again, carted off to his Uncle’s for the summer by exasperated parents who need a break from his dark moods and too-sharp tongue, remembers stepping out of his dad’s beaten up truck and having Rey’s skinny body hurled against him while she babbled so quickly he only caught every few words and thinking that even if no one else wanted him around Rey reliably would.

 

After he shoves her off with a playful “brat,” and musses up her hair even worse he walks down the hall to the bathroom, surprised to realize laughter is bubbling in his chest, until he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

 

In another life he thinks he might’ve passed for handsome. Even when he was young he disliked his overgrown nose and ears, but as soon as Leia had stopped cutting his hair herself he had let it grow long enough to disguise his ears, and with them covered he thinks his nose might have been the sort of feature people said added character to an otherwise unobjectionable but boring face. His eyes, he supposes, are nice, even if the brow that sits over them leans a little too prehistoric. 

 

But in another life he didn’t tear out of his parents driveway on his bike after a bitter argument with Han, his anger making him reckless and oblivious to the dangers presented by sheeting rain until he lost control going too fast around a too tight curve.

 

The doctor’s had said he was lucky to survive, that he had almost lost his life, but staring at the angry scar which bisects the right side of his face, which pulls the skin tight and makes any attempt to smile lopsided and ugly he thinks he did lose his life; lost any chance at a life where a lover would cup his face with gentle hands, his uneven smile one he’s certain no one would want to kiss. 

 

He lost that life and woke up from surgery with this one, where he works in a call center and eats almost every meal at home so he doesn’t have to deal with people’s disgust or pity when they see his face. A life where when Rey called him up (the lone contact in his phone) and asked if she could stay with him for a bit he jumped at the chance, since it would be the first time since he moved in four years ago he’d have someone in this apartment.

 

He tries not to be bitter about the fact that Rey has had more people over in the three months since she moved in than he’s had in the nine years since the accident. 

 

He splashes cold water on his face to try to cool the hot prickle behind his eyes, startles and spills water all down his terrible polo shirt when someone bangs on the door.

 

“Kylo, hurry up!” Rey yells through the door. “I need to wash my face!”

 

He grabs a towel and presses it over his face as he opens the door, side steps out into the hallway so she doesn’t see the telltale flush on his cheeks and start asking questions he’s never ready to answer.

 

~

 

Phasma and Rey hold hands the entire walk to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant they assure him has the best Italian in town.

 

Hux is waiting for them, tucked into a corner table with a glass of red wine, the only person Kylo knows brave enough to risk wearing a white shirt to an Italian place (he imagines Hux glares at his food and sternly tells it that drips and dribbles will simply not be tolerated, and so help them all if even one drop of sauce disobeys.)

 

He stops Rey with her hand on the back of a chair from claiming the seat he always prefers, the one which puts the right side of his face to the wall. The scar tissue pulls his skin in gruesome ways when he eats and it didn’t take long to learn how it disgusts people.

 

“C’mon Kylo. Just sit next to Hux.”

 

“Rey,” he says, desperation and panic stretching his voice thin. “Please.”

 

_ Don’t make a scene. Don’t give people another reason to stare. _

 

“I’d like to sit across from your cousin,” Hux cuts in, addressing Rey before she can continue the argument. “Makes it much easier to talk to him.”

 

With Hux on his side he relaxes, quietly lets out a breath when she uncurls her hand from the chair back. “Fine,” she concedes, and offers him the chair with a flourish. He bumps her shoulder when he walks past.

 

“You’re just mad because it’s harder for you to make out with Phasma if you aren’t sitting next to her.”

 

“Well maybe if you ever went out on a date you’d have someone to make out with, too,” she snipes back at him. 

 

“ _ Rey _ ,” he bites out through gritted teeth. 

 

“I’m serious, Kylo. If you stopped feeling sorry for yourself for ten minutes you’d realize there are lots of people who would love to go on a date with you. How long’s it been? A year? Two? Three?”

 

“That’s enough!,” he shouts, the cramped table shaking when he slams him palms down on it. He closes his eyes to escape the sudden pressing weight of stares from everyone else in the restaurant, draws in a shaky breath, holds it one, two, three, exhales, does it again until chatter resumes at the other tables and he blinks open his eyes. Phasma is shifting her gaze back and forth between the two of them. Hux, he notices, is pointedly studying the crisp linen napkin unfolded across his lap. “Drop it, Rey,” he says when his voice is back under his own control. “Please.”

 

She huffs out a breath that ruffles the pieces of hair she never fixed back into her bun, obviously Phasma’s doing. “Sure, fine. Conversation over.” 

 

It’s not an apology, but he takes what he can.

 

Despite his outburst the dinner is pleasant. Rey chatters enough that the conversation never lags and Hux and Phasma, friends for longer than either of them will own up to, seem to have an ongoing competition to see who can make the other blush first (to his surprise, proper, buttoned-up Hux wins this round.)

 

He tries to keep his gaze off Hux, fights to face Rey or Phasma when they speak, but as Hux starts on his third glass his lips are stained red and his accent starts slipping through, his vowels rounding and softening, a lighting-fast flash of his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips makes Kylo’s breath stutter to a halt in his chest.

 

“Oh,” Hux says, eyes flicking over his face. “You have-” he trails off and gestures hazily toward his own face. “Sauce,” he clarifies.

 

“Oh, thanks.” He knocks a fork off of his plate as he scrambles for his discarded napkin, scrubs it against his cheek.

 

“No, other side,” Hus tells him, a bubbly-sweet laugh right beneath the words. “There. No, I’m sorry, you didn’t quite get it. Here,” he begins as he reaches across the table.

 

Kylo darts a hand out, grabbing Hux’s elbow before it lands in a puddle of red sauce. “Careful,” he warns, and he feels the blush crawl all the way to the tips of his ears when Hux grins as he looks down and registers the near disaster.

 

“Ahh, thank you.” He finishes leaning across, swipes his fingers over Kylo’s cheek, and he can feel how Hux’s finger snags on the worn-smooth tract of scar tissue, feels his pulse slamming against his throat at the nearness of Hux, the suddenly overwhelming scent of his cologne, the tempting plushness of his wine stained lips as he parts them, just barely, in concentration of his task.

 

Surely, though, he can’t possibly be such a slob that Hux is required to swipe his thumb back and forth over Kylo’s cheek repeatedly, until Rey clears her throat.

 

He startles, jerks back, and slams his own elbow onto the table when he hurriedly lets go of Hux’s. Rey and Phasma are both out of their chairs, jackets on and watching them.

 

“Are you ready?” Rey asks, clearly amused.

 

“Yes!” he yelps, and nearly knocks his chair over when he hurriedly tries to get out of it. Hux instead, picks up his wine glass, swirls the last bits settled on the bottom, and tilts it back for a final sip. 

 

When Hux’s tongue darts out to swipe up the last drops clinging to the rim he is suddenly desperate to exit into the night air, glad he didn’t bring a jacket so the cooling breeze can chill the heat gathering along his spine.    

 

They all gather outside the door, saying their goodbyes and goodnights, making tentative plans to go out again. Hux brushes a kiss to Phasma’s cheek with an aristocratic air, the motion smooth and practiced, elegant in a way he’s certain he’ll never be. He kisses Rey’s cheek too, although she ruins the moment by imitating the gesture with a loud smacking sound.

 

And then Hux turns to him, and he wants to tell Hux to stop, beg him not to do it, because he’s already haunted by Hux’s presence, by the way his nose wrinkles when he laughs, the haughty scoff he gives to conceal laughter whenever Phasma tells a crude joke, by Hux’s scent and warmth and very presence. He lies awake at night, missing Hux’s heat beside him in his too-small twin bed even though he’s never had Hux there. 

 

He knows the contact would be nothing to Hux. A courtesy, a friendly gesture between burgeoning friends, not even thought about.

 

But it would be everything to Kylo.

 

Before he can do anything Hux stumbles. Maybe the wine is to blame, maybe the sidewalk is uneven, maybe his fancy, pristinely shined shoes are pinching his toes after wearing them all day. He lurches forward, an arm shooting out to brace him for the impact, and Hux blinks a few times when instead of crashing into unforgiving cement Kylo’s arms are suddenly around him, steadying him. 

 

“My brave knight,” Hux praises as he regains his footing. “That’s the second time tonight you’ve saved me.” 

 

Hux is so close, pressed chest to chest, and he again catches a whiff of the spicy-sharp scent of Hux’s cologne, but underlaid with the scent of warm skin. Delirious, overcome, he starts to lean forward to kiss Hux, his hands aching with the urge to slide down and cup the slight swell of hips, but he stops himself, forces himself to remember that Hux is not wrapped in his arms like a lover because he wants to be, no matter how cruelly close this is to what Kylo yearns for.  

 

He doesn’t want to let go and when he does his fingers tingle. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans because he’s afraid otherwise he might reach out and grab Hux again, pull him close and tight and warm. He takes a shaky step back on suddenly wobbly legs.

 

“Are you, are you alright?” He asks, urgently needing to fill the silence.

 

“Yes,” Hux tells him as he straightens his rumpled clothes. “Thank you, again.”

 

“It’s nothing. Of course I wouldn’t let, you shouldn’t, you don’t have to thank me!” The words stumble out, unable to stop them. He’s certain, even in the dark, even though his retreat pulled him out of the glow cast by the restaurant's sign, that his blush is highly visible.  “Rey,” he calls wildly, voice high and desperate, so tight he’s sure it would’ve cracked if her voice was more than a syllable. “Rey,” he tries again, pleased when his voice comes out strong and steady.

 

“Yes?” She answers back, amusement clear in her voice.

 

“We, uh, we need to go. Home. It’s late.”

 

“Past your bedtime?” She quips, but she gives Phasma one last kiss and then skips toward him, links her arm with his as they head off into the night.

 

“So,” she begins, trails off until he looks at her. “ _ Oh, my brave, strong, knight! _ ” She exclaims shrilly.

 

“Rey,” he warns her, glancing over his shoulder to be sure they’re far enough away Hux won’t hear.

 

“My hero,” she continues, ignoring him. “Oh, take me in your big, strong arms, my handsome rescuer.” He half-heartedly shoves her away. She stumbles but rights herself, still laughing. “C’mon Kylo. He  _ swooned _ into your arms like a damsel in distress.”

 

“He did not swoon. He tripped. And Hux is definitely not a damsel.”

 

“No, but you definitely wanted to pick him up in your arms and carry him to your bed.”

 

He stops, shuts his eyes, breathes deep until he feels like he can face the harsh reality of his life again, until being himself doesn’t seem like such a burden to carry. “Just stop it, Rey. Please.”

 

She stops giggling, and the smile on her face is kind, not teasing. She has to bounce up onto her tiptoes to hug him. “M’sorry,” she mumbles. He wraps his arms around her tiny waist, inhales the comforting smell of the same strawberry shampoo she’s used since they were kids. “I just want you to be happy.”

 

“I am,” he tells her.

 

“Oh, honey. If I thought you actually believed that I’d be even more sad for you.”

 

He just squeezes her tighter. And if part of him wishes she was someone else, someone taller, someone he could turn and kiss and call his own, well, he’s still so very lucky to have her.

 

~

 

He never feels so old as when he has to tell Rey to  _ turn her music down, for fucks sake.  _

 

His tiny apartment is packed with more people than he cares to interact with on a weekly basis, let alone have invade his home, and the music is turned up so loudly it’s making his headache- a kernel of bright hot pain which settled behind his eye when he sat at his desk today and squeezed the damn stress ball managment gave him, pretending it was the throat of the customer on the other side of his headset who didn’t understand him no matter how many times and in how many different ways he explained procedure- begin to morph into a migraine.

 

He expects to see her sitting on the couch, probably tucked under Phasma’s arm, but she’s not there, his couch instead filled with people he’s never seen before playing video games on a console he’s pretty sure wasn’t in his apartment a couple hours ago. He winds his way into the kitchen, dodging bodies carrying drinks he already knows are going to end up staining his already ugly carpet.

 

Rey doesn’t appear to be amongst the people smushed into his tiny kitchen, but a familiar shock of ginger catches his eye and before it even registers he’s turning his head to confirm that it’s Hux.

 

Hux is trapped against the counter by a shorter, mousy looking man with dark hair who seems all too enthusiastic about keeping Hux engaged in what, if Hux’s expression is anything to go by, is a painfully boring conversation. When Hux catches sight of Kylo he smiles, bright and open, and he feels his heart slamming in his chest, swears he feels it rattle his ribcage with its staccato pounding, and if this is how he dies, in his crummy kitchen crowded by people he doesn’t know, all because Hux is grinning so widely he can see gently feathering lines pull at the corners of his eyes from halfway across the room, he’ll pass from this life to the next willingly.

 

The man Hux is talking to brightens at the obvious upward turn in Hux’s mood, until he sees that the smile isn’t for him, then his face darkens with a scowl.

 

“Kylo,” Hux calls out to him, waving him over.

 

“Have you seen Rey?” He asks, and Hux smiles even wider, as though Kylo has just made a witty observation worthy of Oscar Wilde.

 

“No, unfortunately, but let me help you look for her. Excuse me, Mitaka,” he says, giving the man a short nod goodbye while he leads Kylo away with a hand to his arm, and he feels the prickle of a glare being directed at him the entire time it takes them to escape the kitchen.

 

Hux leads him down the short hallway until they’re standing at the end, Rey’s closed door on the right, his own on the left. “I suspect Rey’s in there,” Hux says, hooking his thumb toward her door. Now that the song has changed to something with less of a heavy bassline he can hear rustling through the door, along with something he’s going to pretend isn’t a moan.

 

His face blushing, he nods. “Yeah, I uh, probably should’ve checked there first.” He ducks his head and rubs his hand over the back of his neck, sheepish and embarrassed. “Sorry for bothering you.”

 

“Nonsense,” Hux tells him, brushing the concern aside with a wave of his hand. “If you hadn’t come to save me I was contemplating chewing my own leg off to escape.”

 

He huffs a laugh. “Do you, well, if you wanted you could always hang out in my room. To hide, I mean, if you wanted.” He’s sure the blush he had before has crawled all the way up his ears, crept down his neck to his shoulders.

 

“That’d be brilliant. Thank you.”

 

He swallows, only now hit with the reality that Hux is going to be in his room, is going to probably sit on Kylo’s bed and look completely out of place amongst Kylo’s thrift store mismatched furniture in his snug jeans and fitted sweater, with his hair for once not slicked back but hanging loose, curling around the nape of his neck, a soft curtain of red on his high forehead. 

His mouth is parched when he opens the door and he has to work his throat to find enough moisture to swallow temptation when Hux perches on the edge of his bed, looking around the room. The space is tidy, owing more to lack of things to fill it with than any organizational skills on his part, the bed made but rumpled from him sitting on it earlier, his laptop on his desk and phone charging on the bedside table, his free weights tucked into the corner the only things really on the threadbare carpet. 

 

He leans against the wall, because sitting on the bed beside Hux is too close to his many late-night fantasies, and he’s unsure he’d be able to remember this is reality and not something to comfort himself with on a lonely night. 

 

“You lift weights?” Hux asks him. 

 

He raises one shoulder in an uncomfortable shrug. “I’ve got some damaged muscles on my side. It helps keep them strong,” he offers, hoping Hux will drop the conversation without a fight.

 

Hux studies him for a moment, drags his eyes up Kylo’s body unabashedly before he gives a curt nod. “I should’ve figured,” he offers after his perusal with no other explanation.

 

“Who’s the guy? From before?” He asks, desperate to steer the conversation away from himself.

 

“Mitaka,” Hux sighs. “He works with Phas and I, which makes things rather awkward. I’m not sure if he actually believes he’s being subtle, or if he rather insultingly thinks I’m that oblivious. Unfortunately, he’s never outright asked me out, which means I can’t simply outright reject him and be done with it.”

 

“Not your type, then?”

 

“No.” Hux studies him again, his stare as piercing as morning sun. “No,” he says again, slowly. “He’s not my type. It’s something of a cliche, but I prefer tall, dark, and handsome.” Hux pauses, tilts his head, looking like a fox tracking it’s prey. “I’m finding I quite like muscles, as well.”

 

“Oh?” It’s barely a whisper.

 

Hux stands from the bed. “Why? Are you interested?” He takes a step forward. “In Mitaka, I mean. I could introduce you.”

 

With no breath left in his lungs to speak he can only shake his head.

 

No, no, he doesn’t want Mitaka. He wants, he wants, he only wants-

 

“Good,” Hux purrs, so very close now. “You deserve better.” 

 

Hux’s lips are so near to his own it shouldn’t be a shock when Hux finally kisses him, but somehow it still is. He doesn’t get good things like this in his life, they always slip through his reaching fingers, but this he gets, gets Hux pressed tight against him, lips on his, their noses bumping. 

 

He shivers when Hux slides his tongue across his own, feels his knees wobble when Hux tugs his lower lip with a firm bite. He can’t help the whine which snags high in his throat when Hux tucks a hand into the arc of his lower back and coaxes him forward, their hips slotting against each other in sinfully delicious ways. He tangles his fingers in Hux’s hair, to tug him closer, to ground himself, he’s not sure, only knows that Hux makes the prettiest little hum of pleasure when he scratches his short nails down his scalp.

 

He moans when Hux cups a warm palm over his cheek, his fingers sparking nerves he thought long dead, and when Hux strokes his thumb over the wide, hard ridge of the scar tissue he’s suddenly, viciously reminded that he doesn’t deserve to have this, that this isn’t really his, recalls too easily the firm bite in Hux’s voice when he had told Rey he had no interest in Kylo. He feels tears start to gather in his eyes and he wonders what Rey said to convince Hux, wants to hate her, wants to hate Hux, but no, they probably thought they were doing him a favor.

 

He fights back his sob of despair, desperate to have this for just a few more moments. Who can it hurt? Only himself, just a few more seconds to memorize this, so he can torture himself later with the feel of what he may never have again.

 

“Baby,” Hux whispers against his lips, and he breaks, pushes a suddenly confused Hux away as he shakes with the force of his repressed sobs, shuts his eyes and bites his lips (and oh, they feel bruised, swollen from Hux’s careful attention) in a bid to keep from sobbing. 

 

Hux must already think him pathetic enough if he agreed to this out of pity, he can’t let Hux see him dissolve into tears.

 

“Kylo,” Hux starts in a gentle tone. “I’m sorry. I thought, I’m so sorry, but I thought you wanted this.”

 

“I do,” he sobs. “I do. I want this, I want, I want you,” and he can’t talk for the strangled noise clawing it’s way out of his raw throat.

 

“Then what’s wrong?” Hux asks, and the confusion is clear in his tone. He blinks open his eyes, hazy with tears, and sees Hux has a hand reached out, hovering near his chest as though unsure whether the comfort of touch would be welcome.

 

“I want you. But, but I know you don’t want me.” He sobs harder, hunches in on himself and ducks his head so the hanging curtain of his hair hides his dripping nose and puffy eyes.

 

“What are you  _ talking about? _ Of course I want you. Kylo-”

 

He’s reached the tipping point, where his emotions jumble together and sadness slides too easily into anger. He curls a fist and slams it into the top of his desk as he roars “Don’t lie to me! I heard you and Rey!”

 

He’s shaking, from tears or anger or the rush of endorphins from his suddenly aching knuckles he’s not sure. He doesn’t look up, keeps his eyes on his fist, small cuts slowly oozing blood, even when he hears Hux move. This is when Hux leaves.

 

This is when everyone leaves.

 

He jerks away when Hux’s long fingers touch the raw skin of his fist, feather soft. “Hey, shh, deep breaths, it’s going to be okay.” Hux picks up his hand and he allows it, the shock of gentle touches making him feel disconnected from his body. Hux brushes a kiss over his fist, his lips barely grazing.

 

He watches, still hiccuping sobs, as Hux unfurls his fist and works his thumbs against the palm, easing the tension out of it. When he’s satisfied he sandwiches it between his own hands. “It’s not bleeding too badly. Does it hurt?” Hux’s tone is even, the words soft and lilting when carried on his accent.  

 

“I don’t understand,” he says, confused, adrift. His voice cracks, like a scared child’s.

 

“Your hand. Does it hurt? Do you need medical attention?” 

 

“I need to sit down.” He staggers over to the bed, Hux still cradling his injured hand, exhausted from crying, bewildered that Hux hasn’t screamed that he’s a dangerous, violent, _ disfigured freak _ and gone running out of the room. Hux settles next to him, a warm line of heat against his side, and lays his hand in his lap, reaches up slowly, tentatively, and smoothes Kylo’s lank hair out of his face. 

 

“I don’t understand,” he repeats, lost. “Why are you still here?”

 

“Do you want me to go?” He shakes his head, stops when he realizes his headache has returned, worse than before. 

 

“You shouldn’t want to be here. You  _ don’t  _ want to be here.”   
  


“I do,” Hux insists. “I want to be here, with you.” Hux cups his cheek, turns Kylo to face him with a gentle nudge. “I know what you heard, what you think you heard.” He pauses and brushes away tears still clinging to the darkened skin beneath his eyes. “I told Rey no, because I didn’t think you were interested. You barely speak to me. Whenever you see I’m in a room you leave.”   
  
He presses his face more firmly into Hux’s palm, lets the warmth of it seep into skin long untouched. “It was easier, if I kept you at a distance.” He stops, swallows. “It made things easier, to not have any of you if I couldn’t have all of you.”

 

Hux’s lip twitches in an aborted smile. “Yes, yes, I know. That’s why I told Rey no. But that night, at the restaurant, you kept looking at me. I thought, I hoped, maybe I was wrong.”

 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “How could I not look?”

 

“It’s as if,” Hux says, “you plucked the thoughts straight from my mind.”

 

Hux leans in and kisses him, soft and sweet as sticky caramel.

 

~Epilogue~ 

**_6 Months Later_ **

 

“Are you going to be okay?” Hux asks as he pulls their entwined hands up to kiss Kylo’s knuckles.

 

“Probably not,” he says with a wry grin. “But we’re here. May as well go in.”

 

Hux slides his free hand under the lapel of Kylo’s suit jacket, presses his fingers against the bruise he worked onto Kylo’s neck when they were getting dressed, a dark purple blossom which pulls his skin hot and tight when he turns his head, a constant reminder of Hux, hidden by the collar of his shirt.

 

“It’s just a party,” Hux assures him. “And you look stunning.”

 

“It’s a party the firm is throwing  _ in your honor _ because you landed them their biggest client in decades.”

 

“Technically it’s a party to welcome the clients, not a party for me.”

 

He huffs. “ _ Technically,” _ he mumbles as Hux drags him to the ornate doors leading into the banquet hall, music tinkling out from the other side. “I just, I don’t want to embarrass you,” he says as Hux puts a hand on the door.

 

“Darling, sweetling, I will never be embarrassed by you.” Hux lets go of the door to pull him into a fierce hug. “You are the dearest thing in my life, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool, yourself included.”

 

He nods, throat tight, and when Hux presses a kiss to his hair then reaches for the door he finds he’s not so nervous anymore.

 

Hux keeps his hand pressed against Kylo’s lower back, slid under his jacket, as he guides them through the room, introduces Kylo to people whos names he won’t remember come morning. But he smiles, and he shakes hands, and when it becomes too overwhelming Hux turns to him, radiant, stunning with his broad smile and shining eyes and the purposefully undone top button on his shirt and says, “Dance with me, my love.”

 

He’s never had much talent for dancing, but it’s no hardship to sway in Hux’s arms, to let Hux guide him with the same hand still low on his back and trust Hux will keep them from stumbling into the path of the other couples on the dancefloor. He tucks his face into Hux’s shoulder for a brief reprieve, inhales Hux’s cologne, the scent soothing; it clings to his pillows and on nights he and Hux spend apart he presses his face into them, breathes deep and lets himself fall asleep to the thought of being held in Hux’s arms.

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

He hums. “People are staring.” They’re hard to miss, the tallest couple on the dance floor by several inches, and he knows the curious track of people’s eyes as they stare at his face all too well.

 

“Of course they are, darling.” Hux stops where they are, lifts Kylo’s face to steal a kiss. “They’re staring and wondering how I was ever lucky enough to land you.”

 

“Hux,” he whispers.

 

“And,” Hux leans in close, his breath a shivery tickle across Kylo’s ear, the words only for them. “they’re imagining, now that I have you, what, exactly, I do to keep you.”

 

He shivers at the words, has to bite back a moan when Hux nips at his throat. “What are you going to do to me?”

 

(Last night Hux spread him out on his Egyptian cotton sheets and simply touched him. Ran his warm palms up the sensitive insides of his thighs, ghosted tickling fingers over the flat of his stomach, making the muscles jump. Over the puckered, gnarled skin on his side, so much worse than the scar on his face but usually more easily hidden, he had bared himself to Hux, and Hux had touched it and kissed it the same as the rest of him, until he was trembling, so close to the edge of pleasure he was begging, desperate, close to tears.

 

Finally, finally, Hux had slid inside him, a slow gentle roll of his hips which worked Kylo closer to his peak with every movement. And he had stopped speaking then, because no words, not Heaven, not Paradise, not Eden, could describe the feeling of Hux deep inside him, of Hux fluttering kisses against the scar on his face and murmuring ‘Kylo, my darling, oh my precious, beautiful boy, there isn’t a part of you I don’t love,’ until they both came, bellies pressed together, trembling, and he had reached for Hux’s hand, only to find Hux reaching out for his.)

 

“You want to know what I’m going to do to you?” Hux asks, low and filthy as he pulls Kylo tight against him and turns them about the floor again.

 

“Yes,” he breathes out, and his eyes had been fluttering closed, safe in Hux’s arms, but he jerks them open when the hand on his back pulls his hips tighter and Hux, without warning, dips him low, Hux’s body fitting against the arch of his own to bend close and kiss him firmly.

 

“Marry you, Kylo. I’m going to marry you.”

 

~END~ 

  


**Author's Note:**

> EDIT- Now with AMAZING artwork by the incredibly talented thisisatitle. Do yourself a favor and go look at her stunning work!
> 
> http://thissisatitle.tumblr.com/post/158110904062/commission-for-cut-off-the-grain-who-asked-me-to
> 
> Thank you for making it this far with me! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment.
> 
> Come say hi on my tumblr http://cut-off-the-grain.tumblr.com  
> I mostly post short drabbles and bits from upcoming works. Say hi, squeal with me about Star Wars, maybe leave a prompt!


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